


Discipline

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Loss of Control, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You know once I start, I cannot help myself...</i> Load era. James teaches Lars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for roses, as part of 2012's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'James,Lars (Metallica): Leather.'
> 
> Title on and based on Nine Inch Nails's Discipline. Set in late 1996.

They started the game thanks to an accident. Too much alcohol flowed that night in the post-studio party. One too many cran-tinis for Lars, one too many beers for James. So when Lars spilled his drink, and himself, onto James’s lap, James didn’t think. He just laughed, called Lars something stupid and slapped Lars’s ass. Twice.

The action left Lars hard and horny enough to pull James into a bathroom and kiss him.

It was worth the cut lip he received a split second later. At least James looked a bit guilty every time he glanced at it—trying not to get noticed doing said glancing. The bruise didn’t fade until two weeks passed. And when it did, James finally came up to him, asked him for a moment alone, and the cut broke open by the force of James’s kiss.

He landed on his knees many times after that. A month passed and he grew accustomed to the taste of James’s cock. He didn’t push James to reciprocate. After awhile, he found he didn’t have to — either James felt like sucking his dick by shoving him into some room and shoving his pants down, or James wanted his dick sucked instead by shoving him onto his knees and his head over his crotch.

They didn’t speak of it. Their looks said it all. When James wanted it. When Lars wanted it and spurned James on to need it, by flirting with other guys, other girls, Kirk, Jason, even James’s own friends.

And it was one of those spurring on moments that caused the whole ‘game’ to happen. Some party somewhere in Manhattan, celebrating the end of Reload, Lars had some young guy eating out of the palm of his hand—literally. The kid was drunk and starry-eyed enough to do anything he wished. So he did, taking a bite of a dark chocolate strawberry out of his hand. In the vicinity of James. In James’s general direction. Where James saw it and stared at it and stared at him and stared at the kid, and then his face twisted into the jealous rage that made Lars’s dick twitch before James turned away and stormed off.

He got what was coming to him half an hour later in a bathroom, with James sitting on the toilet seat, James’s hands manhandling Lars’s body, forcing him over his legs, yanking his shirt over his head, trapping his wrists behind his back, jerking his pants over his ass and—

_SMACK_

Lars groaned, “Unh.”

_SMACK_

“Ungh!”

_SMACK-SMACK_

His own hot breath blew back into his face.

_SMACK_

His body squirmed over James’s legs—rubbing into his thighs.

_SMACK_

His hips bucked forward. Bucked back.

James’s hand grabbed the burning red flesh of his ass and _squeezed_ , forcing a long hiss from Lars’s raw throat.

He felt hot breath over his head, and heard James’s sneer loud and clear in his ear. “You fucking slut.”

_SMACK_

Lars moaned, “Oooh.”

The hand trapping his wrists let him go. “Lift your hips up.”

He obeyed, pushing his feet onto their tiptoes, balancing with his fingertips on the floor.

His breath caught at the sound of James’s belt unbuckling.

The metal grazed the skin of his stomach. Leather skipped over the side of his hip.

_SMACK_

“Down.”

He settled back over his hips. His teeth chattered. His body burned, from his ass all the way up his spine, across his chest—the sound of his beating heart filling up his head, hurting his chest, choking his throat, clenching his stomach, and his teeth ground together, his nose breathing in fabric.

One hand reached for his shirt—

_SMACK_

“Ahh!”

The hand grabbed his wrists again, twisting them behind him again, pushing them onto the small of his back.

“Don’t move.”

He nodded his head—if the movement could be seen anyway, with the shirt in the way.

James fidgeted beside him, under him. He bit his teeth into his shirt.

Then, fabric tied around his wrists. Binding them together, tight.

Lars twisted his head as much as he could.

The white fabric of his own shirt obstructed most of his view. But the shirt had some translucency, and he made out James’s pale chest. The ends of James’s shirt sticking up, over his wrists.

James’s head turned towards him.

His body stiffened, watching his hand raise—with the folded belt.

_THWAK_

“FUCK!”

Pain shot up his back, across his ass, down his quivering, trapped legs in his pants. He chewed into his shirt, his eyes squeezed shut, his head flopping down. Blood rushed forward, dizzying the room.

_THWAP_

“Aghh.”

_THWAP_

“Fuuck.”

_THWAK_

He panted into his shirt. Saliva seeped through the fabric. 

THWAP

His body trembled. His eyes stung.

_THWAP_

His ass burned. His chest burned.

Then: _THWAP THWAK THWAP THWAP—_

“Fuuuuck!” His bound wrists jerked up.

A hand shoved them down.

_THWAP_

“I told you to not move!”

And the belt rained down. _THWAP THWAP THWAP_ pain shot everywhere, his hips rubbed against James’s thighs _THWAP THWAP THWAP_ tears wetted the shirt fabric, along with his saliva _THWAP THWAP_ he groaned _THWAP_ and moaned _THWAP_ and let loose a loud, long whimper of pain _THWAP THWAP_ and cried out, “I’m sorry! _I’m sorry!_ ”

**_CRACK_ **

The sob ripped from his throat, and he blubbered out, wriggling over James’s lap, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, no more, no more, I’m sorry, please…” He sniffled. “Please…”

The hand on his bound wrists lifted away.

He jumped at the _clang_ of something hitting the linoleum floor.

Two palms, gentle palms, ran up the hot, sweaty skin of his back, and down.

Fingers fumbled with the knot over his wrists, releasing the makeshift bond.

His arms fell slack, hands brushing the floor, hanging around his head.

Those palms went to his ass—Lars tensed—and they petted the reddened, bruised skin. Long, gentle pets that unknotted the tension in Lars’s stomach and in Lars’s chest.

Each gentle pass relaxed him. The hands occasionally drifted up his back, massaging the muscles there. Some passes went down to his thighs, massaging the inner skin, fingertips brushing his balls and sending needed pleasure throughout his body.

Then, the fingers skipped along his crack. Over his hole.

Lars murmured, spreading his thighs as much as possible, with his legs still confined in his pants.

Fingers dipped below, back to his inner thighs. They passed up and down the left thigh. The right thigh. Up and over one ass cheek, then the other.

One hand palmed its way over his spine, right to the base of his neck, where some of the shirt crunched up.

He still felt the squeeze that hand gave him.

“Don’t do that again.”

Lars nodded his head.

“Say it.”

With his dry throat, he groaned, “I won’t.”

The hand squeezed again. He felt James’s tummy touch his side, James’s mouth press against the back of his head.

He felt and heard the mumble, and the words nearly made him come.

“Good boy.”

Lars returned to the party with a hard cock trapped in his pants, and a sore ass rubbing bare against the leather. People noticed he looked different—acted different too. Lars deflected as many inquiries and curious glances as he could, before he had to fake an emergency and retire for the evening.

The smug look James gave him the next day made him want to punch James, as well as fuck him silly against the wall. It was one of the reason why he repeated the same mistakes the next time an opportunity arose, a few weeks later. And James tore into his ass again until he limped back outside to the adoring public with the hard-on from hell and no way to relieve the pressure. Not until James said so. 

It made him weak, and helpless, and needy, and desperate. It made him powerless, and exposed, and at James’s mercy.

It drove him crazy. It broke him.

It was exactly what he needed.


End file.
